


the knife that you held at my throat

by lorspolairepeluche



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Sexual Content, Past Child Abuse, So There BioWare, halla and cullen get married before trespasser, tho it's technically continued to the present day even though halla's an adult now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorspolairepeluche/pseuds/lorspolairepeluche
Summary: The past is done with us the moment we are done with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> General warning for discussions of past abuse and then the continuation of it later on. I promise it turns out nice.

Halla finds her place for the night when she finds Cullen asleep sitting up in an armchair in the small room not far from the war table. His coat and its fur drape over the back of the chair, off his shoulders, leaving him in just his tunic and pants. His breathing is even, steady.

Halla flicks her hair, longer than usual and irritatingly prone to falling in her eyes, away as she turns to the others. “You go on. Sleep well; you’ve earned it.”

Sera’s snort is unmistakable, but softer than usual. Dorian absently tugs her arm as he heads out of the room, his mind on his own lover. Cole lingers for a moment, his head cocked a little as he watches Halla quietly take off her own armor—bracers, breastplate, boots—and set them down with Cullen’s next to the chair.

“‘He’s not dreaming, and that’s good.’”

Halla stops for a split second, but lets Cole go on as she retrieves the blanket from behind the chair. “‘When he dreams, it’s almost never a good one. At least he can wake up and see me while I’m here in Skyhold. But while I’m away… He never says how much his dreams hurt him when he sleeps alone, but I can tell once I come back. He still hurts, and I always rush back to him when the work is done—‘ Is that why you always want to get back so quickly? His dreams will still hurt him, even if you’re there.”

“Yes, but…the pain doesn’t last as long if I’m here.” Halla still doesn’t look at Cole.

He pauses for a moment, but he starts murmuring again, still her thoughts. “‘I should know… Time and time again, feeling the pain shoot through me just like then, hearing her screaming at me, everything dark and closing in… I wake up then, and in the seconds it takes for my mind to clear, having him next to me—‘ _Your_ pain doesn’t last while you’re together, either,” Cole realizes.

“No, it doesn’t,” Halla agrees, finally settling down curled up in the chair, her head resting on Cullen’s shoulder. “Good night, Cole.”

“Good night, Halla,” he whispers as he takes his leave. He has helped enough here; the hurt is gone when Halla is with Cullen.

—

Cullen wakes, as he always does, with a jolt, and it shocks the weight on his lap into wakefulness too. “What—” he begins, immediately on high alert, but she only snuggles sleepily closer to him. “Halla,” he breathes, relaxing and allowing his arms to fall over her.

“Mmh,” is her only response as her eyes slip closed again.

Cullen studies her for a moment. Right now, in the most vulnerable hours of the night, she looks so quiet, so small, curled up in his lap. And right now, even though she is the Inquisitor, Savior of Ostwick and Herald of Andraste, and she can certainly fend for herself, all he wants to do is gather her into his arms and protect her as she’s protected him, protected everyone.

His hand strays to her hair. It’s tied loosely where it hangs, longer than he’s ever seen it. He carefully pulls out the tie and runs his fingers through it. She never lets it get this long, he realizes. It’s messy, but as his fingers comb through it, carefully, carefully, stopping before he accidentally yanks on a particularly nasty snarl, he realizes that her hair is wavier than he’d thought, and shiny.

“I’m not asleep,” Halla murmurs. “You can stop trying to wake me.”

“I was trying to let you go back to sleep,” he answers with a chuckle behind his voice.

She smiles, her eyes still closed. “You’re failing spectacularly. But don’t worry.” Her eyes open the slightest bit. “I like it a lot.”

“When did you get back?” Cullen asks, tugging gently at a knot in her hair.

“Mm, what time is it?” she asks, sitting up and wriggling to stretch out her spine. “Few hours ago, maybe? Still nighttime, right?” She tilts her head, allowing him to continue combing through her hair. “You like it like this?”

“It’s quite pretty,” Cullen answers.

“Really?” Halla’s fingers stray to her hair, brushing Cullen’s. “I always wanted to be pretty when I was younger,” she mused. “My stepmother always said that pretty girls were the ones who got husbands sooner.” She chuckled. “She wanted so badly to see me married. The way she saw it, I had three choices: Templar, Chantry, or marriage. She’s probably still disappointed I didn’t do any of those, even if I did help save the world.” She pulls her head away, shaking her hair out as she stands up from Cullen’s lap. “Well, she got Yewan and Brigid married, and Luke and Gid and Lissy were templars…” She sighs, her hair falling over her face. “And Sanea would have been forbidden from any of that anyway. Oh, Elice would guilt-trip me if she were here.”

Cullen’s mind, as usual when it comes to Halla, goes through some convoluted process and has him say something that, in hindsight, would of course make sense only to him. “What if she didn’t have to guilt-trip you?”

“What?” Halla’s one word is a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” Cullen stood and took a step toward her, “what if you _were_ married?”

Halla laughs again, unwittingly stepping back, not wanting to believe what Cullen had left unsaid. “To who? Some Orlesian nobleman twice my age? Is Josephine planning to marry me off? I thought I left that behind when I joined the Inquisi—“

“No, of course not,” Cullen rushes to assure her. “I mean, yes, you left it behind, but…” He can feel his heart hammering, and swears she can feel it too. “Halla.” He reaches for her hand, needing something to ground him as he says what he’s been vacillating over for weeks now. “You don’t have to get married off to some nobleman you’ve never met.”

“Cullen?” Her voice is soft, and she squeezes his hand. She can feel her heart hammering, and swears he can feel it too.

Cullen gently, so gently, cups her cheek in one hand and whispers, “Marry me. Marry _me._ ”

Halla’s breath comes out in a burst, almost a sob. “Yes,” she whispers, her hands going automatically to Cullen’s face. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cullen nearly laughs with relief before kissing Halla, lovingly and soft until she presses forward, licking his lips, asking for more. And as he gives it, he knows he’ll give everything for her.

—

“And no one was surprised,” Saraan murmurs over her tea next morning. When Aiyan and Panna throw her questioning looks, Saraan nods to the doorway of the barracks mess hall, where Halla has stopped, looking around for them. “Left hand. You know what finger.”

The other two turn back around after they’ve caught the glint of gold on Halla’s finger. Panna’s grin is as wide as ever, but Aiyan’s is more subtle and satisfied as he says, “About time, too.”

“Good morning,” Halla says briskly as she sits down next to Aiyan.

“How’s the Commander?” Saraan asks innocently.

Halla turns as red as Panna’s hair, even as she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, but the ring on your finger does,” Saraan said mildly, sipping at her tea.

“He asked, or you did?” Panna asks, ever straightforward.

“Technically, he did,” Halla sighs, giving up. “I was the one who first started talking about marriage, though.”

“So you tricked him into it?” Aiyan prods, amused.

“I did not!” Halla insists hotly. “I just… He mentioned that my hair’s longer than usual. He thought it was pretty, and I remembered that my stepmother always used to want me to be pretty so I could get a husband.”

“And then he asked you to marry him,” Panna says.

“No, there was…more than that—you know what, yeah. And then he asked me to marry him.” Halla leans her elbows on the table. “Maker, I’m tired.”

“You two, ah, celebrated the engagement, then?” Aiyan asks pointedly.

“Maker’s breath!” Halla blurts, sitting up straight suddenly, her face coloring even further. “That is—none of your business!”

“I _thought_ the war table looked a little mussed when I went in to check on you,” Saraan says mock-thoughtfully.

Halla shoots her a dirty look.

“Relax,” Saraan laughs, reaching over the table to cover Halla’s hand with hers. “Really, Halla, what do you think we all did last night?” She rubs her own shoulders with a rueful smile. “I’m going to be sore all day.”

“Me too,” Aiyan mutters. “How he has that much energy after coming back from a mission…”

Panna chuckles, and they all glare at her until she says, “What? I had trouble walking when I woke up this morning too.”

—

Cullen stands up in alarm when Halla bursts into his office clutching a letter. “What is it?”

She thrusts the letter out to him. “This. This is fucking terrifying, Cullen!”

“What?” Cullen asks, taking the letter and scanning it.

“My _stepmother_ is coming to _Skyhold._ ”

Cullen takes a moment to absorb the sheer absurdity before bursting out laughing. “It’s not funny!” Halla insists. “I told her we’re engaged, and she’s on her way here! With Papa and Yewan and Mariah and Gideon and Felicity and Brigid and Ian! Brigid’s _pregnant,_ for Andraste’s sake, why would Elice make her come here; I—”

“Halla!” Cullen hastens around his desk to her and takes her shoulders. “Calm down. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

“No, no, it won’t!” Halla insists. “She wants to ‘have input on the wedding festivities,’ which means she’s going to muscle in on the planning and take control of it. She did that with my brother’s and sister’s weddings, and I don’t want that—that—I don’t want my stepmother here, Cullen!”

Something isn’t right. Halla wouldn’t be panicking over a simple family visit. She shouldn’t be this—this _scared_ of her stepmother. “Why not?”

She does not look at him, but determinedly a foot to his left, down at his desk. “I just got free of her. I don’t want her controlling me anymore. And…” Her hand absently travels to her face, touching her cheek as if to calm a remembered pain.

And it clicks into place, and a silent fury at this woman he’s never met boils up in Cullen’s stomach. “Halla. Look at me.”

Finally, she does, her eyes belligerent. “What?”

“I’m not her,” he says softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

“She didn’t—“ Halla begins hotly. “I’m not—FUCK!” She rips herself out of Cullen’s grasp, grabs a bottle off of his desk, and turns to hurl it at the wall. As it smashes, her shoulders slump, her head hangs, and she repeats in a whisper, “I don’t want her here.” She raises her hands, curling them into fists again in front of her. “But she’s already on her way, and she wants to control me again! Cullen, what if she means to control the Inquisition through me?”

“The other three Inquisitors will have something to say about it long before that, I’m sure,” Cullen said, not daring to touch her. “And at that point, Leliana and Josephine will be involved as well. They will not let something like that slide.”

“But what if _I_ —“ Halla cuts off with a short, agitated breath.

“Halla.” Cullen hesitates to touch her, but puts his hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. Please, calm down, and tell me what happened.”

Halla drops her hands again. “My mother died when I was five. A fever swept through the Free Marches. Mother got sick, I got sick, Felicity got sick, Brigid got sick, Yewan got sick…but only Mother was taken from us.

“Two years later, Papa remarried. Elice. She’s a beautiful woman, really, and she wanted all us girls to be like that too. Felicity and Sanea and I hated that. Lissy had sworn from the day she learned about our templar uncles that she would join the Order. When Elice found out Sanea had magic, she as good as disowned her. And I…well, I just…didn’t want Elice’s plan. I was happy before Mother died. When Elice came into our lives…she poisoned it for me. I didn’t want to be part of the nobility anymore, especially not after she started parading me at parties in front of all the unmarried men. I was _fourteen,_ and she marched me in front of men twice, three times my age _._ When I told her I only wanted to marry someone I loved, she slapped me. She actually slapped me. And then she locked me in a closet for a day and a night and forbade the servants to let me out. I remember that day, that night. I remember crying, I remember screaming for someone to let me out. I remember…helplessness.

“When she finally let me out, she was…strange. She was nice to me, and I couldn’t figure why until she told me that I would be leaving for templar training in a fortnight.” She stops talking, taking a shuddering breath to try and steady herself. “I ran. I ran away from home. I broke Papa’s and Luke’s hearts, but I couldn’t bear it anymore. I didn’t want to marry, I didn’t want to be a templar, I didn’t _want…_ I didn’t want what Elice wanted.”

“Where did you go?” Cullen can’t picture a young, vulnerable Halla, only the woman who closed the Breach, the woman he’s fallen in love with.

“I didn’t get far. I didn’t even think to bring much food with me, I was so desperate to get away. I got lucky. There was a Dalish clan camped outside Ostwick. One of their Hunters found me in the woods. He gave me some food, sat down with me and asked why I was alone and this far from the city. He pointed me back to Ostwick, and by the time I got back, Papa had convinced Elice to let me stay home.

“It was only a temporary truce. By the time I was eighteen, she was throwing suitors at me again. I was bigger then, stronger too, and she couldn’t lock me in the closet anymore.” Halla smiles humorlessly. “So she just threatened to expel me from the house if I didn’t go along with her plan. I would get married by the time I was twenty-two, have a child by the time I was twenty-three, and be out of her way and out of her house.”

Halla falls silent, and Cullen can supply what happened next. “And then the rebellion and the war.”

Halla nods mutely, working up the courage to speak again. “I lost three siblings, and I gained some version of freedom. Suitors came directly to me now, not through Elice, and it made her furious. You know, if Papa and Yewan and Luke hadn’t still been there, I really think she would have tried to poison m—well. A tragic early death for the Savior of Ostwick, and sympathy for her poor grieving stepmother. For four more years, I lived in hell. And then, at the conclave, I learned what real hell is.” The venom leaves her voice as she says, “And, well, you know the rest.” She starts toward the door, leaving Cullen still half-reaching for her. “I’ll be…well, I’ll be around. See you, Cullen.” The door shuts behind her.

Another bottle smashes against the wall, joining the one Halla threw as Cullen leans his hands on his desk and whispers, “Shit.”

—

The next time someone unexpected opens Cullen’s door, three people walk in together. Panna is first to speak. “She told you about Elice.” It is a statement, not a question.

Cullen looks up at them, and they can all see the weariness in his face. It doesn’t surprise any of them; Halla’s had the same look in her eyes ever since she came to them hours ago and admitted what she’d told her fiancé. “She did,” he admits. “I didn’t…I didn’t know what to say. What to do.”

“Well, that’s okay, because we do,” Saraan says matter-of-factly. “The hag’s already on her way, so we can’t stop her from coming.” She smiles, and there is a glint in her eye of malevolent satisfaction. “But we can definitely make her life a living hell while she’s here.”

“Sera’s already agreed to pull out all the stops on Elice while she’s here. Pranks galore,” Aiyan says with a smile. “Dorian was on board to give her hell as soon as he heard what Elice had done, and so was Varric.”

“Good thing Cassandra’s gone to be Divine, and good thing we haven’t told Josephine,” Panna muses. “Those two goody-goodies would be out to stop us.”

“I don’t know,” Saraan contradicts. “I think even Josie could make an exception for this.”

“Let’s see, we still need to talk to, uh…Leliana, Bull, and maybe Cole, although he might disapprove.” Aiyan ticks them off on his fingers. “Blackwall left to be a Warden, Vivienne went back to Orlais…” He hesitates to mention Solas.

“Anyway. The others should be game, once they learn about what this bitch has done to out Halla,” Saraan finishes.

Cullen stares around at the three people casually planning revenge in his office—and he smiles.

—

Cullen hesitates outside the door for several seconds. It’s not being seen with Halla he’s worried about now; it’s been months since she insisted they make their relationship public. But…

_I didn’t want Elice’s plan._

_Elice’s plan for her was marriage. What if she meant she doesn’t want…_

He jumps when the door flies open next to him. “Well?” Halla prompts. “Are you coming in or not?” She’s kept letting her hair grow out, and it’s tied loosely in front of her shoulder, combed until it shines. She dangles the bottle of wine in her hand in front of his face. “Fereldan red. Your favorite. Come on. We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Cullen asks, unable to keep back his chuckle as she grabs his wrist and draws him with her back into her room.

“Do I need a reason?” she asks. “After all we’ve been through, just being alive is reason enough.” She sits back down on her bed, leaning over to reach for the two wineglasses on the nightstand. “Wouldn’t you say?” she asks as she sits back up, glasses in hand. The glint of gold still on her finger makes his heart calm a bit.

“So…you’re still…” Cullen hesitates. “You’ll still…”

“Marry you?” Halla asks softly. Her hand brushes his as she gives him one of the glasses.

Cullen nods mutely, not trusting his voice anymore.

“Of course,” she assures him, pouring wine into his glass. She kisses him once before sitting back and pouring her own glass, setting the bottle on the nightstand. She kneels up on the bed, her eyes level with his, and holds out her hand for him.

Cullen instinctively reaches out, too, and she takes his hand, pulling him closer. “Of course I’ll still marry you,” she whispers, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through his hair. “With you, it’s not marrying off like she wanted me to do. With you, it’s… I told Elice I wanted to marry someone I love. That’s what I’m doing.” She kisses him again, lingering for a second before pulling back and clinking their glasses. “To life.”

“To life,” Cullen agrees, lifting his glass in a salute.

While he sips his wine, Halla throws hers back in one gulp. She lets out a sigh, falling back to lie on the bed and setting her glass on the nightstand again. “Oh, I needed that.”

Cullen has barely put a knee on the bed before Halla sits up, shaking her head. “Uh-uh. No armor on my bed, Commander.” She shifts back, leaning against the pillows, and gestures languidly. “Go on. Armor off.”

And Cullen is reassured as he starts slowly taking off his armor, a smile creeping to his lips to match hers as she watches him, drinking him in. Nothing has changed. Piece by piece, his armor drops to the floor, finally leaving him in just his tunic and pants for her.

Halla beckons him forward, and he climbs onto the bed. She slips her hands under his tunic, and he raises his arms obligingly so she can slip it over his head. When he opens his eyes, hers are inches from him, and she brushes the scar on his upper lip with a thumb before kissing him softly.

From there, it’s a blur, but the one thing Cullen remembers is that, just before he takes her, she whispers, “I love you.”

—

“I still don’t want to do this.”

Saraan makes a mocking imitation of Halla’s frown, sticking out her bottom lip. “Aww, poor baby. Stick it through; we’re right next to you.” She kisses Halla’s head and turns her around, patting her on the back. “Right behind you, Tiger.”

Halla lets out a steadying breath. “It’s five minutes. Five minutes of pretending to be friendly with her for the Inquisition’s sake, and then I can go back to hating her filthy guts and wanting to sink a knife in them.”

“That’s my girl,” Panna says with her usual grin.

Aiyan only sighs and straightens Halla’s sash. “Behave yourself in front of the troops.”

“Since when are _you_ the voice of morality?” Halla asks him as he hugs her. She wraps her arms around him and allows a moment of vulnerability. “We’ll be all right?”

“We _are_ all right,” he assures her.

Halla steps back, straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin. “Time to go, then.”

The other three nod firmly. “Right behind you,” Saraan says again.

—

“Bann Dominic Trevelyan of Ostwick!”

Halla smiles warmly as she steps forward and accepts her father’s hug. “It’s good to see you, Papa,” she murmurs, kissing his stubbled cheek. “How have you been?”

“Better than you have, or so I’ve heard,” Dominic replies. “Let me look at you.” He holds his daughter at arm’s length, looking her up and down, and smiles. “Oh, my girl. You’ve become a fine woman while you’ve been here.” He puts a hand on her cheek, and she smiles gently as she puts her hand over it.

“I missed you too, Papa,” she says. “And is that a new wrinkle between your eyebrows?” she teases. “Who could have put that there? I’ve been away.”

“Halla,” Dominic chuckles, “I have grandchildren now, remember?” He gives his daughter a last kiss on the cheek and turns to the other three Inquisitors.

“His lady wife, Elice Trevelyan!”

Halla forces herself to keep her smile on as her stepmother ascends to her like a queen, lifting her hand so Halla can kiss it. “Hello, dear,” Elice says as Halla, cursing silently, takes her hand and bends to brush her lips against it. “I’m glad to be here. This fortress of yours is charming. Very quaint.”

Halla’s smile is stiff and does not reach her eyes. “Thank you…for your kind words.”

“Dear, it doesn’t do you credit to be bitter,” Elice reprimands. “A lady should always be gracious.”

_Would being gracious have closed the Breach?_ But Halla bites her tongue, and gestures her stepmother to the other three Inquisitors with a small bow.

As Yewan hugs his sister with a whisper of, “I’m so glad you’re safe,” Elice ignores the other three Inquisitors and goes to stand next to her husband. As Mariah ushers her and Yewan’s shy twins, Gideon and Felicity, out from behind her skirt, Saraan’s jaw tightens. As Brigid, seven months pregnant, wearily greets her younger sister with a kiss on each cheek, Panna’s hand tightens on the hilt of the ceremonial sword at her hip, and Aiyan’s ears stiffen. And as Brigid’s husband Ian bows and kisses Halla’s hand, Elice sees all of these things and smiles.

—

Cullen stands as his office door opens. “Papa, Stepmother, may I present to you Commander Cullen Rutherford.” Halla shoots him a proud smile as she finishes, “My future husband.”

“My lord, my lady, welcome to Skyhold,” Cullen says formally. “I’m sorry we weren’t introduced at the welcoming ceremony.”

Elice sweeps in, casting a critical eye around the plain room, before imperiously extending her hand to Cullen. He throws a quick glance to Halla before bending to kiss it. “Commander, was it? You are the…military leader of this Inquisition?”

“I am,” he answers, polite as he can make himself as he remembers Halla’s words: _I remember helplessness._

“Rutherford… Your name is very Fereldan. Are you from…?”

“Honnleath,” he answers. “A small village in the Arling of Redcliffe.”

“Then, you are not a lord?” A note of disgust, small enough that it would be crass to take offense, enters Elice’s voice.

“No,” Cullen answers, still polite. “I have no title outside the Inquisition.”

“Hm.” Elice says nothing more, but lifts her chin just that tiniest bit as she looks away.

“I am glad to meet you, Ser Cullen,” Dominic says, clasping Cullen’s hand in both of his. “We heard of your role in protecting Kirkwall, and my dear Halla has told me much about you in her letters.”Dominic Trevelyan beams, and Cullen realizes that now he knows where Halla gets her radiant smile from.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet, my lord,” Cullen answers. “And it comes to mind that I never asked you—“

“For Halla’s hand?” Dominic laughs. “My daughter is fully capable of making her own decisions in these matters, but even if it were up to me…” He drops Cullen’s hand and wraps an arm around Halla’s shoulders, “I would say yes.”

Elice gives an audible sniff from near the door. “Come, darling, we must see more of this…odd place.” She marches out the door, and it is a clear command.

Dominic follows his wife with one last nod to Cullen, and Halla gives her fiancé a quick kiss and a whisper of, “Don’t worry about it,” before following and closing the door behind her.

Cullen’s fist finally relaxes.

—

Cullen doesn’t see Halla again until that evening, when she enters the quarters they share, closes the door behind her, and slides down it with a sigh until she sits on the floor. “She is _exhausting,_ ” she mutters, her face in her hands. She mimics her stepmother’s affected Orlesian accent. “‘Oh, how quaint!’ ‘Dear, are you quite sure this roof does not leak?’ And questions, so many questions! About things she doesn’t need to know! About the Inquisition, how it’s run, about fucking _war table operations!_ ” She drops her hands. “And, worst of all? She kept asking about you and Saraan and Aiyan and Panna. Making left-handed comments. ‘Handsome, but not quite the stock I’d want.’ ‘A Qunari could have been Andraste’s Herald?’ ‘A knife-eared mage? Really, dear?’ Ugh!”

“Then I was right.” Cullen holds out his hand, and she accepts the help to her feet as he holds up the bottle. “I thought you might need this.”

Halla sighs and smiles tiredly. “Antivan port. You know me so well.”

Cullen leans in for a quick kiss. “Wine and sleep,” he declares. “And tomorrow, we face the day together.”

“Now I know I’m marrying the right person,” Halla teases before kissing him again.

—

An angry shriek wakes them the next morning, and Halla’s first, instinctive reaction is fear. Her heart kicks into gear, and she’s immediately looking for places to hide.

“Where are my stepdaughter’s quarters? I demand to know! I must tell her of this indignity!”

“Your ladyship, Inquisitor Trevelyan—” another voice begins patiently, but Elice cuts him off, starting in on an angry tirade.

“Under the bed, quickly,” Cullen whispers when he realizes the situation. He damn near shoves her, and she rolls out of the bed, still in just her smallclothes. She crawls under the bed as Cullen sits up, snatches a book from the nightstand, and opens it on his lap, the perfect picture of shirtless early-morning serenity.

The door slams open a bare second after Halla is fully hidden, and she watches her stepmother’s imperious slippered feet storm in. “I demand to know where my stepdaughter is!” she snarls.

Cullen looks up from the book. “I’m not sure,” he lies smoothly. “She woke before I did. She’s probably somewhere in Skyhold.”

“When I woke up this morning, I opened the door, and a bucket of disgusting cold water fell on my head!” Elice rages. “I demand to know who is responsible!”

“First,” Cullen says, his voice turning cold, “would you mind exiting my quarters? This is improper and absolutely not polite.”

“ _Your_ quarters?” Elice repeats. “It’s you and a young, impressionable girl living together that’s improper! You just wait until her father hears about this!”

Underneath the bed, Halla is curled up, clutching her head, and she is fourteen again, locked in a cramped, dark closet with her stepmother screaming abuse at her from the other side of the door.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan is more than capable of making her own choices as to who she prefers to live with,” Cullen snarls, his tone that of the Commander, “and, clearly, _you_ were not one of her preferences! Now, _leave,_ or I will call the guards and have you forcibly removed!”

The end of Elice’s robe swirls as she turns and leaves with a huff. The door slams behind her, hard enough to make the room vibrate.

“Halla?”

She does not move, still frozen in place, remembering her own voice crying, begging for help, begging for her freedom.

“Halla.” The bed creaks above her, and then Cullen is crouching to look under it. “Halla, she’s gone. It’s all right.”

“No, no, no,” she whispers. “Let me out. Please stop, I’ll do anything, please.” She is caught in a waking nightmare, a teenaged girl all over again—

A hand touches her arm, and she nearly screams with fright. “It’s just me,” Cullen whispers as she shrinks away. “It’s only me. She’s gone, I promise.”

Halla looks at him, and she remembers that she is not fourteen, and she is not locked in a closet. She is twenty-six, but her stepmother’s influence is once again closing in.

—

Dorian and Aiyan smell her before they see her. The hag’s perfume is pervasive, and Dorian stops mid-sentence to wrinkle his nose, turning away from the bookshelf he’d been searching while on another charming tangent—about agriculture, this time. “Do you…smell that?”

Aiyan lifts his nose, his smile disappearing. “Kaffas,” he mutters, a curse picked up from his lover. “It’s _her._ ”

Barely a second later, a gown swirls, and Elice Trevelyan has arrived. “Have you seen my stepdaughter?” she asks, imperious as an empress.

“I have not,” Dorian answers pleasantly. “At least, I don’t think so. I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

“Lady Elice Trevelyan,” she says carelessly, holding out her hand.

Dorian gives it a sidelong glance. “Ah…yes. Dorian Pavus,” he says, making no move to kiss her hand. “Pleasure.” There is no sincerity behind it.

“Ah, you must be the Tevinter. How charming,” Elice says with a false smile, pulling her hand back as if burned. “Do you own many slaves back home?”

“Personally, I own none,” Dorian answers. “Do you have many stepdaughters back home?”

“Oh, I used to, but two of them passed away and one of them came here,” Elice says. “I fail to see how that’s relevant, though.”

“Well, you asked about slaves, and judging by the stories I’ve been told about you, I thought you regarded stepdaughters similarly,” Dorian says, delivering the damning words with his most charming smile and a flourishing bow. “My deepest apologies if I was incorrect. I’m so unused to your southern customs, after all.”

Aiyan has to cough to hide a laugh, and Elice casts him a disgusted glance as he says, “Dorian, it is usually considered rude in the south to imply that someone mistreats their children, even if true.”

“Ah, society is so restrictive here,” Dorian laments.

“Yes. Well, I should be on my way if she is not here,” Elice says primly, gathering her skirt and starting off again.

Dorian watches her go with the utmost distaste. “So that’s the one who would have married off our Herald against her will.” His smile is full of dark glee. “This should be very fun.”

—

“Bucket of water above the door? I thought you already did that one with Josephine,” Saraan comments, leaning against the doorway of Sera’s alcove in the tavern.

Sera snorts with laughter. “Yeah, but did you hear her _scream?_ Lady Prissypants, screaming her old hag head off! Best thing I’ve ever heard!”

Saraan chuckles along. “It was music to my ears. Good one, Sera.”

“I want her gone as much as Halla does,” Sera declares. “She’s even worse than Emmald! I mean, at least Emmald _tried_ to be nice, yeah? Tried to be something like a mother, even if she fucked it up royally. This bitch…” Sera shakes her head in disgust. “How uppity can you get? Ugh!” Sera recoils at the notion. “Someone tried to lock me in a closet, they’d have a knife in their eye.”

“It’s hard imagining anyone being able to make Halla do anything against her will,” Saraan muses.

“All the more reason to chase Lady Fullofshit out of here, yeah?” Sera says, belligerent as ever. “Cause if she could do something like that, she needs to _go._ ”

—

“Isn’t the evil-stepmother trope usually confined to fairy tales?”

Panna looks up from her book, then beside her at Varric. “What?”

“Well, you know.” Varric takes one of his hands out from behind his head to gesture vaguely. “Evil stepmother out to get her heroine stepdaughter… It almost sounds like it’s out of a children’s tale. Only this time…it’s all too real. Maker,” he sighs, putting his arms back behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s terrifying.”

“Halla’s father must be a saint to put up with that witch,” Panna observes.

Varric’s mouth twists with distaste. “Nobles are bad enough. But include the willingness to lock a child in a closet…”

“If it were me, I’d introduce her to my sword,” Panna mutters. “I might still.”

“I think I might throw her a party.”

“A party— _what?_ ” Panna asks, bewildered. “Why?”

“Call it an engagement party for Curly and Tiger. Get a few different kinds of wine—Antivan port for Tiger, Fereldan red for Curly, and whichever kind her evil ladyship hates the most. Serve all her least favorite foods, invite the entire Inquisition because she so obviously hates us all…” He sighs. “Wishful thinking.”

“No, no, you might be onto something there.” A devious smile is curling Panna’s mouth. “I like it.”

—

Halla doesn’t know who she’s looking for until she finds him, crouched in a corner, allowing a dog to eat from his hand. “Cole?”

“‘It still stings where she hit as darkness closes in. Screaming, screaming, _where is Papa? He’s away, and he won’t be back before I’m through with you._ ’”

Halla winces. “Right to the point, as usual. Keep going, though.”

“You… _want_ me to try and untangle your hurt?” Cole stands up, his eyes wide under his ridiculous hat and his straggly blond bangs.

Halla nods.

Cole pauses, his eyes staring almost past her. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says softly. “It could never have been your fault. She forced on you what you didn’t want. You wanted a story, a tale of true love, a heroine who chooses her own path, not arranged marriage and quiet hurting. And now you have it, and she still wants to take it away. ‘No, no, no, I will not let her venom seep into me again. I will not be shoved back into that small, dark space to cry and wish for better. I _have_ better, and he’s waiting for me in our quarters. I have better, and he sings for me when I’m sad. I have better, and as much as she teases and scolds, I know she cares. I have better, and she taught me to be brave.’” Cole pauses. “You have better now, better than she will ever be, and you don’t have to go back.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Halla whispers. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re smiling again.” Cole almost smiles himself. “That’s good.”

—

“Dear?”

_Never my name._

“Dear, I wanted to talk. About this Inquisition of yours. I’m worried you’re working yourself raw.”

_Never my name; always ‘dear’ or sometimes even ‘stepdaughter’ if she’s not pretending to be nice. Callous witch._

“Maybe you should take some time off. Come back home to Ostwick. Before you get married, even. Spend some time at home.”

“I _am_ home.”

Elice clearly isn’t expecting that. She stops short, and it takes her a few seconds to regain her tongue. “Your _childhood_ home, dear.”

_It ceased to be my home the moment you made it yours._

“Before you become a woman, let yourself be a girl a little longer?”

_Oh, so bringing down the greatest threat to Thedas since the First Blight didn’t make me an adult, but getting married will? I would feel sorry for your naïveté if I had any indication it ever existed in the first place._ Halla still holds her tongue as Elice goes on about the restorative powers of a vacation. She begins to tune her out, thinking instead of war table operations, of supplies needed in the Inquisition camps in the Hinterlands.

“Dear, are you even listening?”

“Obviously not.” The bit of sass slips out before Halla can stop it, and she winces, bracing for the inevitable tirade—

“Dear?”

A different voice, the same word, and Halla’s heart leaps as she turns. “Vivienne!”

“I was told I could find you here.” Vivienne accepts Halla’s hands as the younger woman stands and kisses her on each cheek. “In my old rooms, no less.”

“I could only give my family the best,” Halla replies smoothly.

Vivienne’s low chuckle is a welcome sound. “Well-said, my dear. You’ve learned,” she compliments. “And…who is this?”

“Lady Elice Trevelyan of Ostwick,” she introduces herself smoothly, standing and offering her hand. “I’m the Inquisitor’s stepmother.”

“Ah—yes.” Vivienne looks like she regrets asking, and does not reach for Elice’s hand.

Halla hides a smile.

—

Halla lets out a deep, deep breath as she sits down across from Varric and puts her head on the table. “This is a nightmare,” she mutters. “See, red templars and ancient elven lore? That I can handle. That’s interesting. That gets me moving. Diplomacy and invitations and other bullshit? Can’t do it. That’s Josephine’s court, not mine. But it’s still the only way I avoid seeing Elice, so I suffer in silence.”

“This isn’t silence, Tiger,” Varric teases.

“Shut it,” Halla grumbles, lifting her head enough to glare at him. “You know exactly what I meant, Varric. This is mad. I can’t even go out to train because no one will stinking train with me! Cullen and Panna are too busy with other Inquisition bul—business, Cassandra’s gone, Cole doesn’t spar, I’m not effing sparring with Bull—I value my spine, thanks—and none of the soldiers’ll even look sideways at me, let alone hit me!”

“Well, you could always spar with me.”

Halla’s head lifts, not daring to believe until she turns around and sees him in Warden armor. A grin dawns on her face. “Blackwall!”

He is smiling as she jumps up and hugs him, smiling bigger than she has ever seen. “What are you doing here?” Halla asks, releasing the hug but keeping her hands on his shoulders, as if to assure herself he’s really there.

“I was appointed Grey Warden liaison to the Inquisition,” he answers. “And, well, wedding guest too, I suppose. Congratulations, Inquisitor.”

“So you really did become a Warden, Hero,” Varric says. “Good for you.”

“Got a problem, dwarf?” Blackwall asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Absolutely not,” Varric chuckles. “Welcome back.”

“Welcome back,” Halla echoes, smiling helplessly.

Blackwall raises an eyebrow, trying to not smile. “So, are we going to spar or not?”

—

“So, this stepmother of yours—“

“Only gonna talk about her if you’re willing to talk about Josephine,” Halla interrupts, taking a gulp from the water skin and handing it back to Blackwall.

He shoots her a mock-glare, but accepts the skin and says, “Fine. Every one of our old traveling companions seems to know I fancied her. I admit it; I did.”

“Oh, is that the word you’re using? Fancy?” Halla laughs. She smiles at him, her chin resting in her hand as she watches him take a drink and wipe his dripping mustache.

Blackwall looks determinedly away, fixing his face into its fiercest scowl.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not! Cheeky young pup,” Blackwall mutters. “All right, I talked about Josephine. Your stepmother. She’s—”

“A bitch,” Halla says. “Come on, let’s go another round.” She stands, holding out a hand to help Blackwall up too. “I’m going to need to hit something while I talk about her.”

—

Blackwall stops, panting, his face repulsed. “She did _what?_ ”

“She also disowned my sister when we found out she had magic,” Halla answers, gasping words out between heaving breaths. “Tried to get me to become a templar, hated my brother Luke, probably ‘cause I loved him ’n didn’t love her. Like I said, _bitch._ ”

“You weren’t kidding.” Blackwall sheathes his sword. “I have half a mind to go talk to her.”

“Don’t,” Halla warns. “You’ll only make it worse. For every time I’ve confronted her about it, it got doubly worse.”

Blackwall scoffs, low and disgusted, but he steps toward Halla, puts a hand on her shoulder, and says seriously, “I’m gonna tell you something, Inquisitor. Something you and the others helped me learn. I want you to remember it.”

Halla nods, equally serious. When Blackwall is speaking directly like this, his brow furrowed and his gaze steady, she knows to listen.

“The past is done with us the moment we are done with it.”

—

“Okay,” Saraan whispers. “Varric, Panna, you two grab Cullen, west side of the front of the throne room. Aiyan and I will get Halla, bring her to the east side. Josephine, when both groups have signaled, you announce the happy couple. Right?”

Panna and Josephine share a quick, conspiratorial smile. “Right,” Josephine says. “I will wait for your signal.” She allows herself a giggle. “Good luck!”

—

“Where are you dragging me?” Halla demands.

“We’re not dragging you,” Aiyan answers. “You’re coming along because you want to.”

“And because we promised you your favorite wine,” Saraan adds. “Antivan port usually convinces you.”

Halla sighs, defeated.

Saraan holds up her hand, and Aiyan pulls Halla to a stop. “What?” Halla demands. “Why are we outside the throne r—“

“Shh!” Aiyan claps his hand over her mouth as Saraan leans into the room and signals something.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Halla demands in a hiss, pulling Aiyan’s hand away from her. “You—“

She’s interrupted by a voice from downstairs, inside the throne room. “Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, members of the Inquisition, may I please have your attention?”

“Josephine?” Halla whispers, still confused. “Aiyan, what is going on?”

“May I present the reason for our gathering here tonight—our Inquisitor, Lady Halla Trevelyan, and our Commander, Ser Cullen Rutherford. Will you please join me in giving them our congratulations on their engagement and our best wishes for their marriage!”

Halla’s mouth is a perfect O of surprise until Saraan puts a hand under her chin and pushes it closed before pushing her out into the throne room. She can feel every eye on her until a protesting Cullen is pushed into the hall too and Varric winks at her. She glances back at Saraan and Aiyan, and they gesture her forward.

Halla and Cullen meet in the middle, still a little unsure, both their faces heating. “Did you know this was being planned?”

“No, and it was right under our noses,” Cullen chuckles. “So what do we do now?”

Halla takes the initiative, and the crowd of Inquisition soldiers, agents, and guests cheer as she pulls Cullen to her and kisses him, warm and welcoming.

—

“Cheers.” Halla touches her glass to Cullen’s for a second. She takes a sip, savoring the wine. “Husband,” she says wonderingly. “It feels so strange saying it.” At Cullen’s immediate hurt expression, she laughs and says, “I’ll get used to it soon.” She gestures with her glass. “Go ahead, love, drink. They threw this party for us, after all. They can’t expect to give us any work after that.”

“You got that right,” Panna chuckles from where she stands with Aiyan before downing her own glass in two swallows.

“Well, one glass can’t hurt,” Cullen concedes.

“That’s my boy,” Halla teases as Cullen drinks his wine. Her arm slips around his waist.

“Boss!” The Iron Bull is already half-drunk, his arm fixed around a similarly intoxicated Saraan as they make their way to Cullen and Halla, head and shoulders above everyone else. “Congratulations, Cullen, you landed yourself one hell of a woman. Boss, if he’s ever an ass to you—“

“I know,” Halla laughs. “Come straight to you.”

“Nah, I was gonna say go straight to Saraan. She really knows how to handle shit like that. Right, kadan?”

Saraan raises her eyebrows at Cullen in mock-intimidation, and he feigns a block with his arms, laughing. “Don’t worry,” he assures them, putting his arm around Halla’s shoulders. “I would never.”

“Stepdaughter!”

“Oh, shit,” Bull mutters. Elice is approaching, nearly storming, and she shoves her empty glass into the hand of an elf agent, whose eyebrows shoot up in offense.

“Stepmother,” Halla says, her voice tightly controlled.

“You have been avoiding me,” Elice says without preamble. Her face is flushed from the wine, and her voice is loud enough that a hush begins to fall over the room. “So it seems that the only place I will be able to say this is here. Dear, I disapprove wholeheartedly of this marriage. You are a noble daughter of a lord, and _he—_ “ she points accusingly at Cullen, and Halla’s arm tightens around his waist, “is a common templar from the backwaters of Ferelden! He is not worthy of you! He—“

“Unfortunately,” Halla interrupts her, her own voice rising, but still collected, “you have no say in this matter, and therefore you have no right to object to my decision. Cullen is _my_ fiancé, and an honorable person, which is, unfortunately, not something anyone can say about you, _Elice._ ”

A sharp sound rings off the walls, and if the guests hadn’t yet been paying attention, the sound of the Inquisitor’s stepmother slapping her across the face draws their eyes without exception.

Several things happen very quickly.

“How dare you—“ Cullen’s hand immediately goes for his sword.

Iron Bull doesn’t even bother with weapons, just gives a growl deep in his throat as he and Saraan both take a step toward Elice. Panna elbows Bull’s thigh to make way for herself and Aiyan, her mouth already opening to hurl curses at Elice.

The Inquisition rises immediately to their leader’s defense. There is a collective whisper of knives being drawn as several voices shout admonishments at once.

But Halla holds up her hand, and once again, the room falls completely silent.

The blow had been almost entirely unexpected. Halla rubs at the spot, rolls her jaw, remembers an identical pain from not so long ago. She lowers her hand and turns. The crowd parts for her, and she ascends the steps with a smooth, controlled stride. She turns on her heel and sits in the Inquisitor’s throne, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands in front of her mouth. Her gaze is intense. Halla is in command.

Elice suddenly realizes her predicament as agents and soldiers shift behind her, blocking any way out of the throne room. “My dear, I only meant—“

“I believe you made clear what you meant when you struck me,” Halla interrupts. “You hadn’t done that in over a year, not since the day I left for the conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I believe my inner circle is all aware of the incident of twelve years ago when you locked me in a closet and left me there for a full day and night. But there is something else that no one here knows, save you and me. It is something I have never been brave enough to tell anyone, as you threatened after the fact to kill me and my siblings if I ever told anyone.”

Murmurs are running through the crowd at that as Halla fixes her stepmother with the hard stare of the Inquisitor sitting in judgment. “In 9:37 Dragon, when I was twenty-one years old and newly named the Savior of Ostwick, as I was recovering from injuries I sustained on the day the Ostwick Circle fell, you attempted to poison me.”

The room explodes into noise, and if it were not for Saraan’s hand tightly gripping his shoulder, Cullen knows he would draw his sword on Elice then and there. As it is, he can feel himself shaking with rage. “ _A tragic death for the Savior of Ostwick, and sympathy for her poor grieving stepmother.” She knew. She knew exactly what she was talking about then._

Elice’s face has gone cold. She is done equivocating. Her Orlesian accent disappears as she asks, “And how, pray tell, do you expect to prove this?”

“Oh, that’s simple,” Halla says. “Yewan, Brigid, you do remember how long I took to recover?”

“An unusually long time,” Yewan answers, his own voice tightly controlled. “I thought, at the time, that it was strange, but you yourself assured me it was grief over Gid and Lissy and Sanea.”

“See?” Elice demands. “You see? She changes her story afterward to justify—“

“I remember too,” Brigid cuts in. “She seemed to be recovering the first two days. The third day, her health took a massive turn for the worse, and we had no idea why.” Her voice goes as cold as her sister’s. “Now I know.”

“Elice?” Dominic Trevelyan pushes his way to the front. “Is this true?”

Elice does not look at her husband. She glares at Halla, hatred bare in her eyes. Halla raises an eyebrow. “Answer him. Tell him the truth for once.”

“Yes.” Elice spits the word. “I locked her in that closet myself, and I poisoned the brat. I taught her lessons she will never forget. I taught her fear.”

“You taught me nothing,” Halla replies, proud that she can keep the tremble of fury out of her voice. “Save hatred. A lesson I have worked hard to forget.” She raises her voice. “Inquisition! Since I am no impartial judge in this, I leave the decision of Elice Trevelyan’s fate to the other three Inquisitors. Do you approve?”

A roar comes from the crowd, and Halla nods to the other three. “Then I defer to you.”

Panna’s response is immediate and entirely expected. “Death. It’s what she’d do to you.”

Saraan casts Panna a warning glance before saying, “The Skyhold dungeons are home to many attempted murderers. I’d say add one more to their number.”

“Agreed.” For once, there is no caution in Aiyan’s voice. “Although I’d say send her back to Ostwick. She can live in their prison.” He looks to his side, and Saraan and Panna nod. _Best to get her and Halla as far from each other as possible._

“Then it’s decided,” Halla pronounces. “Elice Trevelyan, for your attempt on my life and for threatening to make attempts on others’, you will be stripped of your titles and lands, and you will live out your days in the Ostwick prison. For now, you will be taken to the Skyhold dungeons, to depart and never return in the morning.” She holds Elice’s hateful gaze for two taut seconds before saying, “Take her away.”

The two nearest Inquisition soldiers grab Elice, dragging her to her feet and out the door to the spiraling stairwell to the dungeons. The others slowly go back to the party, murmuring about the judgment.

Cullen is first up the steps to Halla, taking them two at a time, with the other three Inquisitors and Dominic right behind him. “Halla? Are you all right?” Cullen asks, unable to keep his fear out of his voice.

“I…think I need another glass of wine, actually.” Halla’s voice has lost its command, and her and trembles as Cullen takes it in his. “Or maybe something stronger. And then…then I think I’ll need to go to bed.” Her gaze goes past him. “Papa…”

“Oh, my girl.” Dominic lifts Halla to her feet and hugs her tightly. “If I’d have known…”

“I know, Papa.” Halla hugs him back. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

As Halla departs, the entire Inquisition stands at respectful attention.

—

Halla wakes to silence and warmth. The pressure of an arm around her, warm under her naked breasts, reminds her why, precisely, she is so pervasively content. She wants so badly to linger, maybe make love to Cullen once more, but the duties of the Inquisitor are downstairs and will soon be howling at her door. So she drags herself out of bed, running fingers through her hair as she yawns.

The bedclothes rustle behind her, and she glances back to see Cullen watching her. “Enjoying the view?” she asks. She remembers Cole’s words from nearly three weeks ago: _I have better._

“Very much,” Cullen answers, his voice husky with sleep.

“What do you see?” Halla asks, reaching her hands up before allowing them to fall, clasping them behind her neck and looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m curious.”

Cullen doesn’t answer before he slips out of the bed and takes the few steps to her, his hands barely touching her hips, his lips barely touching her ear. “I see a free woman.

“I see someone who has faced down everything ever thrown at her. I see a woman who bows to no one. I see…” He kisses behind her ear. “I see the woman I love.”

“Mm,” Halla hums, enjoying the feeling of his fingers ghosting up her sides, still with that bit of hesitancy that’s always there, as if he is silently asking permission. “Well, this free woman, unfortunately, has duties to attend to. As does her Commander.”

Halla can feel Cullen’s small smile against the back of her neck. “Surely they can wait.”

“Commander Cullen!” she says, feigning scandalized tones. “Shirking your responsibilities? I’m shocked.”

“I suppose I can face the day with just a kiss,” Cullen concedes.

Halla turns in his arms and obliges, quiet and loving. After a second, Cullen breaks the kiss and whispers, “With you at my side, I believe I could face anything.”


End file.
